Sword and Shield
by Mollymawk
Summary: Rescued before her execution, former general Celes now relies on a complete stranger. He swears she can help their cause, but she isn't sure if she can trust Locke, or anyone. FFVI prompt fic, mid-story to ?.
1. Chapter 1

She was so different from his lost love, his first, and his sworn only. Locke pulled his eyes from the dying embers of their campfire to the woman huddled in a blanket in a hollow shaped by tree roots. Celes Chere, the former Imperial general. She was gaunt from her imprisonment, but he had a feeling that sharp features were natural for her. Sharp, hard, as if carved from stone or ice and then colored to lifelike. The night sapped all the color from her, but she was pale to begin with, wheaten hair she'd bound at her nape or hidden beneath a hood as soon as they had escaped the city. He'd heard the stories about the general with the golden hair blowing free in the wind like a banner. It seemed damned foolish to him, a liability, and that's why his own sandy, near-colorless hair was roughly cut short with a bandanna keeping it free of his eyes. But the Empire had a finely-tuned propaganda machine, and the thought of seeing this woman on the battlefield, her hair loose and her presence implacable, was an surprisingly intimidating one.

All that was behind her now. What remained of her former life was the sword laying next to her, and with approval he noted that it was positioned so that she could be armed in a heartbeat if need be. As they'd made their way out of the twisting passageways and sewers beneath South Figaro, he'd found a few caches of supplies, likely smugglers' stores, and he was reasonably certain they could make their way to Narshe on what they'd found and what they could barter along the way.

They. Already thinking in terms of working together. Well, what other option was there? He'd freed her from imprisonment and execution, but where could she go but with him? Of course he had to think in terms of what she would need and what she could offer. She wasn't in good shape, but hopefully that would improve swiftly. They'd need to cover a lot of ground in the next few days before the hairs on the back of his neck stopped standing up to sense Imperial patrols.

There was always the question of whether she would want to join the cause of the Returners, but he knew she wasn't long on other options. But would they accept her? Banon was level-headed, he was able to think in black and white when those tough decisions had to be made, but emotions ran high in any resistance group, and given her rank, there was a high likelihood that Celes was personally responsible for some of their losses. It would be hard to argue with people who had lost their homes, seen family and friends killed, and tell them that their former enemy was now their ally. He hoped Banon would have some means of talking them down. He was already suspecting that when it came to Celes, he was growing a bit too biased to make rational decisions.

A high-pitched squeak sounded above him, and he ducked instinctively; years of "treasure hunting" in caves had taught him to get out of the way of bats. That it was just a bat was comforting. Some said the tales of strange beasts in the wilds were exaggerations, but he'd had close encounters with them personally, and knew that in some places it was far more than wolves or bears to be feared in the dark. He'd also noted that in places where these monsters were found, the more usual fauna was scarce. A normal bat in a normal forest was a good sign that they wouldn't have to deal with any bogeys. Funny how they'd started appearing not long after the war began. Oh, tales went back, any grandfather had plenty to tell, but he and everyone else had believed them to be just scary stories, until it wasn't just the elders telling them, but merchants and farmers and couriers. Likely the Empire was responsible for this, as well. It was quite effective at keeping the villagers frightened and locked in their homes at night, rather than sneaking out to clandestine resistance movements.

Yes. He hoped Celes would recover soon. He was good, but he doubted he'd be able to do more than briefly delay a monster if it chose to hunt them.

He eyed the faintly glowing embers. He didn't like leaving such an obvious sign to be tracked, but the smoke could be driving away any unwelcome guests of the nonhuman variety. And being able to warm some of these road-rations before they set out again would be welcome. In her condition, Celes would likely need to take care with her food to make sure it stayed down.

Locke returned his consideration to his companion. Yes, so very different from Rachel. Rachel had hated camping. It had taken him much pleading to get her to try it, and only after time did she take to it without complaint about how she'd prefer to be in her bed than beneath the stars. Celes, by contrast, had taken immediately to the tasks of making camp when they stopped in the last light of the day. He'd found the root hollow of this tree for their shelter, and she built the fire after clearing the dry leaf litter, and had refilled their canteens from the nearby stream. A general likely had full staff to attend to such details, so the fact that she knew what to do and did it without hesitation gave her a few more marks in his mind.

Granted, there were many differences between taking your lover stargazing to steal some time alone, and finding shelter in the forest after fleeing an occupied city with a fugitive. But the differences didn't end there. Rachel had always been so vivacious, filling the silences with gentle questions or quiet observations. It hadn't been mindless chatter, and he'd loved the way they could banter back and forth so easily. Celes had been nearly silent since they'd left her makeshift prison, speaking only when necessary, and then only in short, clipped words and a distant voice. Again, he had to admit that the circumstances were night and day. Yet there'd been a coldness around her, as if she was gathering ice around her and using it to wall off the rest of the world. Trauma, oh, he was familiar with trauma, and the way it almost required dissociation to endure with sanity held together, but her coldness felt different, as if there was more to it than just the silence of a suffering soul trying to recognize their situation as one now free of immediate peril.

Rachel always knew what to say. She'd been a bit of a peacemaker in her village, especially when her father had objected to her courtship by a shiftless vagabond. A mediator with a mind of her own, headstrong and pushing back when someone tried to change her mind. He could still picture her in that blue woolen dress, tending her herb garden, her warm dark hair plaited and tied with a gingham bow. Warm. She had always been so warm. Smiles came readily to her lips, and laughter too. Her hands, so deft with needle and thread, so gentle with sprouting plants. Celes, well, he imagined her hands would be free of the calluses of hard work, but would most certainly bear those of wielding a blade. She was so precise, so exact, he doubted she'd spare a word when it was unnecessary, either.

Perhaps he was being unfair, making his judgments of her based on what were certainly not her finest hours. Though it wasn't like he had any other evidence to examine, and he had to constantly assess the situation if they were to make it out of this. Still, he hoped that she was not as severe and distant as she'd so far seemed. It would be a hard sell to the resistance if she was unlikeable as well as a former enemy. Ultimately that was her problem, not his, but he did feel responsible, since he had freed her. And he had promised.

Yes, he had promised. There things weren't so different.

Locke sighed, shaking his head at himself. Why was he so intent on comparing her to Rachel? He'd spent far more time with Terra without this sort of introspection. Maybe because things had felt less desperate back then. It felt like months, a lifetime ago, but it was just weeks since he'd been called to Narshe, after a small Imperial strikeforce had attacked and then vanished just as swiftly. And he'd promised to help Terra as well, but he had discharged that obligation when he'd delivered her safely to the resistance, and let her choose for herself whether she'd join their cause. Terra's acceptance into their fold might offer a smoother way in for Celes, now that he thought of it. Yes, Celes was a general, not a- a magic-wielding weapon, but maybe their sympathies toward her could be stirred in Celes' favor. It felt cold to calculate this way, but war wasn't allowing much room for more pleasant methods of winning hearts.

The coals of the fire had dimmed now, and pallid moonlight was painted in dappled patterns through the canopy of leaves above. It was getting late, and he needed to get some rest. He could only push himself so far, and it wasn't like his spare frame offered him much in the way of reserves. By now it should be safe to doze. His nerves were as tightly wound as harpstrings, and he trusted himself to be on his feet with daggers in hand at the slightest sign of danger. Moving quietly, to keep from disturbing Celes, he settled himself against one of the arching exposed roots of the tree, a position that gave him the best line of sight he could get. He shouldered himself out of his overshirt, turning it around to lay over his chest as a makeshift blanket, then leaned back. The last thing he saw before closing his eyes was the still form of Celes, sleeping her first peaceful sleep in days.

_Please don't let me regret this._


	2. Chapter 2

Celes was very young when she learned the art of staying alert while letting her mind wander. The lessons in the academy went back as far as she could remember, and it hadn't taken her very long to figure out how to show every sign of being attentive to the lessons and still let her thoughts flow freely. Especially when the lessons were the same boring retreads she'd heard so many times before. She also perfected a way to snap back to attention with the information the teacher wanted, and how to convincingly bluff while gathering context to figure it out.

The lessons were adapted by the time she was undergoing physical training. She was separated from the normal recruits not just on basis of her age and sex, but also because of the specialized officer's training she was getting, but by the time they had her standing in formation alongside the rest, she was absolutely perfect at remaining at attention indefinitely.

These lessons were serving her well now. A fugitive's flight was quite different from a soldier's march, but there was the same silence, the same attentiveness, the same need to send her thoughts free but still be aware of everything around her. Everything, including the stranger that had become her lifeline. He had point, as he knew where they were going, so she was taking advantage of that to make a careful study of him.

He was a member of the Returners. That meant he likely had very personal reasons to oppose the Empire. Considering all she had learned so recently, Celes knew that those personal reasons could be very painful ones. It was amazing how sheltered the Empire had kept her—perhaps not so amazing that they had done it, but how well they'd done it. She had always believed what they'd told her about the war's necessity, that the other nations and kingdoms feared what they didn't understand. Now she knew better. And she knew that anyone who risked everything to stand against a force as overwhelming as the Empire would have to have very good reason to do so.

He didn't carry himself like any kind of soldier. The way he moved was easy and relaxed, and yet so purposeful. It reminded her of the way a wolf could cover ground in unhurried strides. She had to work to keep up, but only just. He was well aware of how well she was following, and slowed when she was lagging. None of his bearing was that of someone who'd had disciplined training. So he wasn't part of any city guard or royal retinue. His clothes were plain, undistinguished, a bit bare at the seams. They seemed to be rather common fare, but the doeskin of his gloves was anything but. The paired daggers at his waist were made of fine steel as far as her eye could discern, and he made every impression that he knew how to use them.

His voice, what little he'd spoken, revealed more about him. There was a looseness with diction that bothered her desire for precision, and he used some phrases she wasn't familiar with. It wasn't a country burr the recruits from the farms came in with, but neither was it the sort of city accent she was used to hearing. After some thought she realized it reminded her most of the accents of the dockworkers at Tzen. It was far more evident when he was relaxed, as if he could by conscious effort keep that telltale twang out of his voice.

And no lock could keep him out. She had to wonder if his name was some sort of pun on that, if it was a nickname he'd taken up later in life.

All this considered, her savior was most certainly a thief. Probably a spy as well. An agent of the Returners, rather than a simple foot soldier. Perfect for infiltrating an occupied city. Surprisingly perfect for smuggling out a fugitive.

As of right now, she was a liability to him. It was much more difficult to hide two than one, and her condition didn't make that much better. He seemed intent on taking her to safety, though this safety was for him, not necessarily a former Imperial general. She worried that she was out of the frying pan and into the fire, but the unknown danger ahead of her was preferable to what was behind her. She'd been given a second chance, and she refused to give up this easily. Scant camps in the woods, traveling off the roads, eating from their meager rations or a rabbit roasted on a spit; all a challenge to her, and she would rise to it and ensure she was as light a burden as possible.

The feeling of being indebted chafed at her. She hated it, and wished she could somehow repay him. But how could she offer repayment for her life? What was her life even worth? Apparently enough that he found it worth saving, and worth taking her to the leaders of the resistance, but that didn't give her a firm answer. Most likely he'd say something about how she could pay him back by serving the resistance, telling Imperial secrets. She hated that idea, too. Being indebted to this stranger was preferable. Who knew what agenda she'd play into if she was in someone else's hands?

How much had really changed by her escape? She seemed destined to be a puppet yet again. At least now she recognized the strings that had tied her, and should be able to see any new ones as well. What place did a disgraced general have, other than giving them what they wanted and being grateful for her life?

Celes winced at the paths her thoughts were taking. Feeling sorry for herself, when she had her life, and a second chance. How many had neither thanks to this terrible, pointless war?

"You okay?"

Blinking, she reoriented herself on her savior. Locke, she reminded herself. He was casting a glance over his shoulder at her, his brow beneath his bandanna furrowed with concern.

"Hmm? Oh. Yes. I'm fine, sorry."

"Y' sure? We can stop and rest a bit if you need." His voice was soft, even, and tempted her to believe the sincerity in it.

"No, I'm fine, really. Just got a bit lost in thought. We need to keep moving."

"Alright. But if you need to rest, just say so, and I'll find us a place for a breather." He gave her a reassuring grin as he started moving again, and despite herself she felt warmed by it.

She shook her head, grateful for the heavy woolen hood and cloak Locke had "borrowed" from a farmstead they'd passed. Hiding beneath it gave her some measure of comfort. "I do appreciate it, but really, I'm fine."

"I'd hardly expect ya to be fine so fast, but I'll take it you mean you don't want me to motherhen at you," he tossed over his shoulder. "No shame in needing to pace yourself, just so you know. We'll hardly make good time if you come up lame."

Of course there was a logical reason for his concern. "You'll know if I need to rest. Trust me."

"Don't worry, I do."

She blinked. A thief and spy, with personal reasons to oppose the Empire, and he trusted her, a former Imperial general? She decided not to press it, for fear of what else she might learn. He might be her savior, but her reliance on him made him just as much her new captor. And someone like him likely knew many angles to play a situation to his advantage. She'd rather not give him additional ammunition.

As they lapsed back into silence, she realized it was one of their longer exchanges since they left South Figaro. It had revealed a lot about him, but she worried that she was giving away more than she wished about herself. She couldn't afford to give him the opportunity to tie her with more strings.

Still, conversation was nice. Not that she was very talkative. She'd always had much to learn, and had always been a listener. But there had been few people available to her to talk to, in her life within the Empire. There had always been Cid, but only when he wasn't busy in the research lab, and that wasn't often. He made time for her when he could, but the head researcher and the up-and-coming prodigy had rather opposed schedules. Her special status meant that she was separated from anyone like her, save Kefka, the other success of the magitek infusion experiments. And he was never pleasant company. There had been something offputting about Kefka that had encouraged her to keep her distance. Maybe it was the way he saw the tally of troops as nothing more than gamepieces on a board. In their strategy classes, he had shown himself in favor of very risky maneuvers, the sort that would bring victory and glory if they succeeded, but in reality would almost always end in disaster. He had also shown a preference for the unexpected. Leo had the most to say about Kefka, little of it positive. But Leo was a general's general. He was the most brilliant strategist Celes could think of, even in her studies of historical military leaders the world had seen before. He was the sort of leader who could pull of brilliant recoveries of squads cut off from support, of situations that looked dire, and only entered those situations when his back was against the wall, not as a first resort.

She wished she knew if her warning to Leo's troops in Doma had arrived in time to warn them of Kefka's plan to end the siege by poisoning the water supply. She wished she knew why the Emperor had allowed Leo to be recalled and replaced with Kefka in the first place. Doma had been a stalled front, yes, but if anyone could have broken through, it was Leo. Why would he be called back? To be sent elsewhere? Their march on South Figaro had been a precise operation, and though she had been slated to lead it, her replacement had obviously carried it out without a hitch. She hadn't heard any indication that Leo might be required to take command at this front. Taking South Figaro had been a major victory for the Empire, but moving on to Figaro Castle would be disastrous. Kefka had tried, and Kefka had failed, when Figaro's brilliant king somehow managed to bury his castle and his people beneath the desert sands. Unless Leo had a means to counter that engineering prowess that she was unaware of, placing him in charge of the Figaro front would have been a waste of his abilities. Occupying a southerly port city hardly required the most brilliant general, even if he was replacing one turned traitor.

She wondered if Kefka had really used that poison, if Doma had fallen to the Empire. She wondered if Leo knew, and if Leo was demanding answers from the Emperor. More than any of her teachers and history books, it was Leo who had taught her what it meant to be a soldier. She could hardly imagine he'd stand idly by if he knew what was really going on. Or maybe he did, and yet knew another layer beneath it, more information that made the situation even more complicated than she'd come to realize.

Maybe she'd have the answers to some of her questions in Narshe. If Locke was an example of the resources the Returners could put in play, it was reasonable to assume they'd have news from Doma, from pigeon courier or otherwise. She hoped Kefka hadn't gone through with it. To fight on a battlefield, soldier to soldier, that was one thing. It was painful and horrific, but it was the face of war. But for everyone to be targeted with something as indiscriminate and insidious as poisoned water? It was the very definition of a war crime. No true soldier would stand for such an act.

She hadn't. But that was precisely why she wasn't a soldier anymore.

The light was lengthening, the forest dappling turning golden. Doubtless Locke was already trying to find shelter for the night. Celes wasn't entirely looking forward to another night huddled under cloak and blanket in the wilderness, but it was her foreseeable future, and being able to sleep in any sort of comfort was more than she'd had in the days before. At least the cold didn't bother her. It never really did.

"There's an old hunting lodge about a quarter-mark from here, near a lake," Locke said. "When we get close, I'll sneak up to see if it's been used recently, but I think luck's with us, it's not time for waterfowl yet. Should be a good place for the night if it's unoccupied."

She brightened a bit. A lodge meant the likelihood of sleeping in a bed rather than on leaf litter. It'd go a long way to helping her recuperate. She had to admit that she wouldn't meet the idea of another long march after a night outside with much enthusiasm. She knew she was still recovering from her imprisonment, but it was irritating to realize her limits were far lower than normal. "It'd be welcome," she responded. "And with good timing."

"Road weary?" he asked gently.

"It's been a long day."

"Yeah, it has. Unfortunately we've got more long days ahead of us, but we should reach the pass tomorrow, and once we've got the mountains between us and the Empire, I'll breathe a lot easier."

"I take that to mean it'll be easier going, too."

He paused to give her a grin. "Hope so. C'mon. Not so far to go now."

This time she had to admit that his attempt to reassure her had worked.


	3. Chapter 3

Camping for the night was much easier in the hunting lodge than out in the wilderness. Having solid shelter around her made Celes feel much more secure, even if they were sharing it with a number of woodland creatures who had occupied the lodge when humans left it vacant. She could hardly object to the noise of a few scurrying squirrels in the rafters if it meant the shelter of four walls. By the time Locke had scouted the building and deemed it safe for them to spend the night, she was barely able to start on building the fire. Exhaustion was overtaking her, and the straw-stuffed bed was looking more inviting than the promise of food. She pushed on to get the fire going, because without a meal she knew she wouldn't have the energy to rise in the morning.

"Here, let me get that," and Locke was beside her, reaching for the pail next to the cooking spit. "I'll get us some water for cooking and refill the canteens."

"Thanks," she said simply. She had to admit that she was beyond being able to haul her own water.

He paused, as if seeing through her careful words. "Think I'll wait on that. Priority is a bath for you."

She frowned at him. "I'm-"

"No, don't, y' aren't fine," he interrupted. "You're exhausted. Of course you are. Truth is, I've been pushing us, and you've been keeping pace longer'n I thought you would. I wish we could take a day to rest up, but we're still too close. If we were on the other side of the pass, it'd be another story." He shook his head in frustration. "We need to get to Narshe as soon as we can, we can't delay needlessly. But a warm bath will help with the aches I know you gotta have."

She studied him, trying to find any hint of another agenda behind his words. But even as she did, her vision was starting to waver. He was right, she was exhausted. And a warm bath really did sound very good. Reluctantly, she lowered her head in mute assent.

"Right. Now, get some food in you," he said, his voice softer now. "Hardtack, don't wait for water for porridge. You need something to keep you going. I'll start the bath." He grinned. "Lucky for us this is one of the Figaro royal hunting lodges. That means some clever contraptions for bathing. Won't take long."

She watched him rise and cross to the hall that presumably led to a few other rooms. The royal lodge? That made sense, given that this was hardly a single-room cabin. And the kingdom of Figaro was famous for the engineering prowess of its citizens, especially its current king. Of course, the Empire had taken what they could of that technology and improved upon it with magitek, but even the simple steam-boilers were leagues beyond what would otherwise be found in a dwelling like this. Comforts of civilization she hadn't noticed until it was gone; she'd be sure to appreciate the bath.

First, the fire. None of the new techs here, just flint striker and tinder, but after a few false starts she'd encouraged a spark to grow from the wood shavings and start to take hold of the firewood. Once she was certain it would stay lit, she sat with her back against the slowly-warming stone of the fireplace. Just a few moments... Catching her eyes drooping, she shook her head, reaching for her pack to get some of the hardtack. Locke was right, she needed to get something into her stomach while she still had the energy.

From the other room she heard the sound of water in pipes. Presumably drawing from the lake, with a cistern? Some sort of clever design, at least. Far more efficient than hauling water in bucket after bucket. Heating it would still take some time, but she actually preferred such things cooler than most, and could withstand the cold better as well.

She forced down the hardtack, her thoughts swimming in her fatigue. Alone in the wilderness with a stranger she was forced to rely on, in pitiful condition and hardly able to take care of simple tasks. If she had the energy left, it would frustrate her to tears, but in her state she could only feel a numb passivity. Whatever happened, she had little control to change things. She could only hope that her salvation was true and not just prolonging the inevitable. If she did make it to Narshe, she could give them valuable information on the Emperor's plans, on the army's capabilities, on the generals' strengths and weaknesses. Would it help turn the tide? She doubted it. But maybe it could buy a little more time for the people who never wanted any of this, who only wanted to go on with their lives.

Like Cid. She missed him; after her parents surrendered her as a ward of the empire, she was essentially an orphan, and it had been Cid who acted in a paternal fashion to her. Grandfatherly, she had to admit, considering he hadn't been a young man when she first met him. The last time they had spoken, before the departure for South Figaro, he had confessed to her that he had spent too long buried in his research and had not asked enough questions of what the Emperor wished to do with the fruits of his labor. That he was proud of his accomplishments on an academic level, but regretted that his research could so easily be adapted into weaponry.

He was the closest thing she'd had to family. If she could, she'd get him out of there, too. But she hadn't even been able to get herself out. She needed outside rescue for that. She could only hope that Cid would be okay, and that there would be no repercussions against him thanks to her treachery. The thought made her feel sick, and she frowned at the rest of the hardtack biscuit. She had to get her thoughts to a better place if she was going to manage to keep her food down.

Though what better place was there? She was a fugitive. Her survival was questionable, in both the longterm and shortterm. Locke seemed determined to get her to Narshe after all the effort he'd made to free her, and she had little doubt he'd do his best to keep her safe along the way, but realistically, she was a liability, and if it meant his life, it would only make sense for him to abandon her. She wouldn't fault him for it if he did. He was far more of an asset to his cause than she could ever be, even if she did manage to give them important information. What could she do after that?

As her thoughts started descending into gloom, she was stirred by Locke's return. "Water's drawn," he said as he re-entered the room. "And this being the king's lodge, I found a bathrobe in the linen closet, if you want to give your travel clothes a soak when you're done. The bathing-room's got a stout door, and on my honor as a treasure hunter, I won't fiddle with the lock." Oddly, the wink that accompanied that statement was reassuring. She was starting to look forward to that smug look of his for the unexpected warmth it gave her. With a ghost of a smile, she started to rise, then stumbled. Locke was instantly there to support her, but the instant she regained her footing, he released his hold on her arm. "Alright?"

"Yes," she said, her cheeks feeling slightly flushed with shame.

"Good then, I'll be here, and there's no way to the bathing-room that anyone could get by me." His grin to her was soft, and then he turned away, rummaging through their packs. A bit too obvious, and Celes got the sense he was trying to make it plain he planned to respect her privacy. Or set her at ease, a bitter voice muttered in her head, but she silenced it. And if that was so? What else could she do at this point but hope he was as good as his word?

The more she tried to make her sore muscles work, the more she realized she really could use a warm soak, so she put what energy she could spare into her step.

Locke heard the soft thud of the door closing. He had made note of the distrustful glint in her eyes, and he could hardly fault her for it. Alone with a stranger? He intended to do nothing to endanger the fragile trust that necessity had forced upon them. Besides, his own stomach was growling.

The fire Celes had started was well-set by now, so he started a pot of porridge from their rations. A bit of warm food before bed would do her well, and he could use it too. There was a larder in the cellar that had some smoked meats; he had a thought to find some rolls and maybe a bit of cheese to make sandwiches they could carry with them and eat on the road. He'd have to thank Edgar for the forethought in keeping this place stocked. It wasn't on his usual list of safehouses, but evidently the king had prepared it as one. It also assuaged his guilt at using the supplies here. Those he'd taken from the farms outside South Figaro had pained him, knowing the occupation of the city would be felt by the farmers as well. There hadn't been much other choice, however. Celes had needed them. She certainly seemed much more at ease beneath the hooded traveller's cloak, and it was of simple enough make to keep her unremarkable. They hadn't encountered any other humans in their flight, which both relieved and worried Locke. Relieved, because then no word could spread, but worried because there should have been signs of travel between South Figaro and the pass.

Calling it a "pass" was really an inaccurate term, but it had once been a mountain pass. That was until some brilliant former king of Figaro (brilliance seemed to be a family trait) had somehow managed to make a tunnel through the caves already riddling the rock. A veritable warren of passageways had once existed there, but cave-ins, bad air, and other hazards had reduced them to a single passageway, or "pass," that was safe for travel. Large enough for a wagon to go through, with windows carved from the rock to admit light at regular intervals, it had allowed supplies from the southern port city to be transported to the castle, without sacrificing the castle's defensible position. For a tunnel was still a bottleneck, and it would take days for an army to pass through, time enough for warning to be sent ahead.

Being on the other side of the pass would make him feel all the more comfortable about their flight. He planned to leave some traps in their wake, and forced from his mind the worry that he'd catch innocent refugees. The fact that there had been no one on the roads suggested that he was unlikely to endanger noncombatants. And if they were being followed, he needed to slow them down. Celes would not be able to keep to this pace.

It was remarkable she'd done this well already, he mused as he stirred the porridge over the fire. She showed amazing resilience for someone who had been jailed on meager rations for so long. And abused. He forced down the sullen flash of anger he felt as the memory of her bruised face resurfaced in his mind. He'd pushed their pace all the way from the city, letting up when she showed obvious signs of fatigue (rather than the ones she made great efforts to mask). She gave him the impression that in her normal state, she would be a very formidable opponent. He hoped she wouldn't need to prove that anytime soon.

Maybe she'd agree to join the Returners. They could certainly use another swordarm, and hers was better than twenty raw recruits. He hated to realize she had very few options, and hoped that she could make a decision she could live with.

_Regret is a terrible burden to bear_. He sighed. If only they had the luxury to avoid such burdens. War wouldn't allow it. War was a source of so much of that regret. Locke had done a number of things he wasn't proud of, but they had been necessary. Banon had always looked so pained when he gave those missions to him, and those darker details had gone unspoken but not unnoticed.

If he was truly honest with himself, he'd admit that the missions he'd done left him with far lighter burdens than most would suspect. They didn't know about his most foolish mistake, his overconfidence and its tragic consequences. These things he did for the war, they were a means to an end, a means of revenge and of allowing him reason to travel, to listen for hints of treasure and maybe the relic that would undo his mistake. Of course he wanted to see the Empire fall, for the horrors they'd committed, but if he was truthful with his soul, it wasn't what he wanted most.

_I need to stop making every woman in trouble into Rachel. Helping them is not helping Rachel. _ He frowned at himself. _Guess it makes a difference to them. Ah, hells. I wish it was simple again..._

Another day, and they'd be through the pass. Another day, and he could relax just a bit, because they'd be that much closer to Narshe. And perhaps the road they followed was a road that would lead him to what he sought. He refused to think about what he'd do if it did. He no longer allowed himself to think that far ahead, to feel that flutter of false hope in his chest. He needed to stay focused on what was immediate if he was to have any chance at all.

And in the immediate, the porridge was burning. With a curse, he scraped the bottom of the pot with the stirring spoon and took it off the fire. Hopefully Celes wouldn't mind. Probably she'd be too tired to care. She wasn't the sort to complain. Not like Rachel would have, but Rachel would have made it into a tease-

Running a hand through his hair, he sighed and forced those thoughts away. Clearly he was far too tired. Celes would likely be finishing her bath soon. He'd make sure she got some food down before she fell asleep, then bank the fire and find his own rest. He was running on too little sleep himself, and he'd need a full night to make up for the deficit. As much as he hated the thought of not sitting watch for at least half the night, he felt secure that this lodge was too isolated to be found by any searchers.

Tomorrow, the pass. Tomorrow, that much closer to Narshe.


	4. Chapter 4

Celes eyed the gaping maw carved out of the mountainside with trepidation. "This is not quite what I expected."

"And what did you expect?" Locke asked from the side, where he was refilling their canteens from a spring.

"Not this...precise." The mouth of the tunnel was as sharp and defined as if made by the hands of man. It was eerie to see a cave opening that looked so unnatural. She shivered.

"A great Figaro king did this. Expanded the tunnel, shored up the supports, made the windows for light. Don't ask me how, all I know is it was some big machines belching steam." He returned to the boulder where they'd rested their packs, replacing the canteens and balancing the pack loads before handing hers back.

She shouldered on the pack, adjusting her cloak. "You swear it's safe."

"The main part of it is. The other sections were closed off when they had rockfalls, or other things. Granted, this little war hasn't made it so easy for the current king to keep maintaining it, but it's how they get supplies from the port, so I'm assuming it's as safe as can be." He adjusted his own pack. "Right, there'll be some dark patches. There's torches stored at both ends, and places along the way, but I'd rather not use 'em if it turns out we don't have to, don't wanna mark us out to any followers. I know the way, so I think I can lead us through the dark parts." He tilted his head. "Ready?"

_Not on your life_, she wanted to say, but instead she nodded. As if she had any other choice! The idea of crossing through a tunnel had seemed not that difficult as an abstract concept, but facing the gaping darkness before her, she was finding herself rather reluctant to step inside.

"It's mostly clear on the floor, for the benefit of carts and wagons, but there could be some rocks about, so mind your step. Remember, it gets us that much closer to Narshe, and that much further from pursuit."

She nodded thinly. With a deep breath, she stepped into pace behind him, one hand straying to the hilt of her sword at her waist. What good a sword would do against this creeping fear inside her, she didn't know. But at least she wasn't unarmed.

The air chilled abruptly as they entered the cave, and the moist, earthen scent filled her nose. There was water through here, she realized. That would make sense; limestone caves to begin with, carved into a tunnel. She hoped they wouldn't need to pass through any water in the dark.

They moved in silence. Windows carved into the walls admitted enough light for now, though as they progressed, the windows' positions changed, likely due to the thickening rock around them. She tried not to think about the weight of all that rock, held in check from crashing down on top of them. Locke, meanwhile, was moving with a confident but alert manner, and she got the sense that he was listening intently and placing each foot with care. She was glad she'd been able to escape with her own boots; they'd held up well to the long journey thus far, and provided her extra protection in this rough terrain.

"Careful here, small rockfall," Locke's voice came to her in the dim, and she noted the area strewn with rocks the size of her head and smaller, lit only faintly with the light from above. "Fresh, too, they'd not have left this."

"You mean this fell recently?" She eyed the wall, but could make out only vague lines amid the shadows.

"At least in the past two weeks when I was last through here." There was a thread of worry in his voice that Celes did not like to hear.

"You were through that recently?"

"Yeah. After Kefka's little visit to Figaro, we came through on our way to the Returners hideout. Which is abandoned now. Imperials too close for comfort. That's why we're headed to Narshe, Banon withdrew our forces that way and wants to talk Narshe into droppin' this neutral stance."

She took in the information, her mind swimming a bit that she'd be so privy to information that she once would have used to benefit the Empire. "Wait, you said 'we.' Who's 'we'?"

He laughed softly. "Suppose it won't matter to keep it a secret, you'll see them in Narshe if all goes well. Well, last time I was in Narshe, our contact for the Returners there had called me in to help smuggle someone out of the city. The tame witch you Imperials had under a slave crown."

Celes blinked, and stumbled. She caught herself quickly. "Terra? So she is with the Returners." The thought was reassuring to her.

"You know her name, mm? What else do you know about her?" And now she heard a hardness in his voice, as if he was very interested in what her answer would be.

She felt herself flush with shame. "I know she was...controlled. Used for her magic skill. That when she piloted magitek armor, it was more powerful than an entire squad. Kefka...demonstrated that, a few times." Memories of Imperial soldiers on fire, screams, the sickening scent, and unable to turn away because it was her training, she had to know what their tame witch could do. She cleared her throat. "She was our weapon. Using magic."

"Yeah. Magic. That was a real shock, let me tell you." His voice was flat.

She felt uncomfortable, and a touch defiant. "You knew?"

"Yeah. Kefka tried to stop us leaving Figaro with a few magitek soldiers. She set 'em on fire, armor and all."

Her stomach turned, the memory drawn back up. "She...was good at that."

"Practiced, huh?"

"You could say that." Her voice was shaking now. "Kefka...was quite proud of her. He had demonstrations, we were required to watch... Emperor Gestahl allowed her to be under his control."

"Well, she's not under anyone's control anymore. Getting her memory back, too." There was something very pained in those words, and she shied away from touching it. "You seem real blasé about magic. How long did the Empire know it was more than just legends?"

"I don't know. A long time. Longer than I've been alive." She stumbled again; this time he only paused while she regained her footing. She could tell by his silence he was expecting more, so she forced out more words. "When the Emperor found Terra confirmed it, I guess. Somehow. All I know is that she was a baby, and there was magic about her. Gestahl hoped to make more like her. Humans who could use magic." Defensively, she allowed the bitterness into her voice. "It didn't work out so well. He ended up with just two that survived the process. Kefka, and me."

"Wait, you?" Locke came to a stop, and she could make out his outline turned toward her in the dark. "You have magic?"

"Yeah, I do," she said, looking away. "They never really explained it. Well, Cid tried, but I couldn't-" She cut off, feeling his impatience. "They experimented on people. Adults, it never worked. The body wouldn't...accept. So they tried children. And...infants."

"They experimented on their own people?" His voice was cold.

"My parents gave me up. I was one of the only successes, I would make them proud by serving the Empire and showing my full potential. But since he couldn't get more like...like Terra, and making more like me didn't work either, well, that's when they started to create the magitek armor. To give soldiers the ability to use magic, without all...what they did to me. The Emperor was disappointed. He wanted more like her. Someone who could...could wipe out entire squads..." Her voice cracked.

"Yeah, well, the armor's bad enough." She could feel his anger. She wanted to pull away, but she was disoriented, she had no way which direction they'd come from. Her heart started racing, and hairs started to stand up on her arms. "You know how many they've killed? Marching on villages, burning them to the ground?"

"Of course I know! I led some of them!" Angrily she glared at him, illuminated by a thin beam of light. "Did anyone ask me if I wanted to be a general? No, it was my destiny, I was a success, I was one of their greatest soldiers, of course I would be one of their greatest assets! I didn't want to march on civilians! I thought we'd face armies on equal fields!"

"Well, you didn't!" She could see his face, and the pain etched onto it made her ache.

"I know, I know now! Why do you think I was in that jail? Why they were going to kill me? I sent information to your people! I warned them that Kefka was replacing Leo on the Doma front, that Kefka was bringing poison for the water! They found out, I was arrested for high treason!" Was it her anger affecting her vision, or were there tiny points of light swirling in the thin shaft of sunlight? "I was ready to _die_ until you showed up. You should have left me there."

Silence then, except for a roar in her ears, a thin wail like the sound of wind through rocks- no, there was wind, it was stirring her cloak, chilling her skin, the points of light were snowflakes. In panic she realized that she was the cause, that her magic was responding to her emotions and was out of control. Desperately she tried to tamp down on the forces roiling inside her and chilling everything around her. There was an outward rush of cold air, and she could see frost patterns etch over the rocks around her feet before it ebbed. She took a deep breath and it turned into a sob as she fell to her knees.

"Celes..."

"No, you know you should have left me," she snapped, unwilling to hear him try to insist otherwise. "I'm a monster. I froze soldiers in their steps. You can't dodge a blade or duck for cover when your feet are frozen in the mud." She shuddered, wrapping her arms around her knees and huddling on the cold stone she had chilled with her ice magic.

"Celes." His voice was soft, and she heard him shift to crouch beside her. "They used you. They used you just as they used Terra."

"Right," she snarled. "Slave crown and all. No, but I didn't wear one. I knew everything I was doing. I made these choices."

"What other choices did you have? If you had said no, what would they have done?"

"Probably would have ended up sentenced to death sooner." If only. And spared those soldiers from being unable to do a thing to prevent their deaths.

"Right, and without sending those warnings. One of our scouts got one of your pigeons, before the army moved to South Figaro. We had enough time to get most of our agents out. Enough time to move the leadership out, and Terra."

"If you're trying to tell me this erases my crimes, you're mistaken."

"Or you could see it as the start of a second chance to make right."

She took in those words in silence, trying to keep herself from shuddering as tears slid down her cheeks. How weak, how impotent she was. How pathetic. From general to sobbing wreck.

She felt his hand rest on her shoulder, and tensed at the touch. He lifted his hand away. "Listen, Celes. You've got magic. You can tell us more about it. What the Empire can do, what the magitek can do. Terra was under the slave crown's power, she doesn't remember much. You know. You can help us."

She hated to admit that he was right. Especially after he went from forcing her to face the crimes she'd committed, to comforting her in the wake of her guilt. Was this all part of some scheme to make her feel indebted to him, and to his cause? She couldn't take it apart. The guilt itself was real enough. And if he was right, and she could help them...perhaps she should. Perhaps it would make a difference.

"C'mon. You don't have to decide now, but we do gotta get moving. We'll be pushing dark as is, and I want us out of here before we lose all light. Unless you wanna sleep in here?"

She shuddered in revulsion, and started to push herself to her feet. He helped her up, his hands clasping hers, steadying her as she found her balance. She didn't want to look him in the eyes, instead turning her gaze away. "Yeah. Let's get going."

He held her hands for a moment longer, then released them with a nod. "Right. This way." He turned and started picking his way through the tunnel, and after a moment's hesitation, she forced her feet to follow. "Watch the frost, it's a bit slick," he warned, and she felt another flush of shame.

"Sorry about that."

"So that was you?"

"Yes. My magic is ice magic. Sometimes I- I lose control, and it gets cold around me."

"Handy way of telling when you're pushed too far," he remarked.

She flushed. "I suppose you could say that."

"Anything else you can do?" His tone was a bit easier now. She could tell he was trying hard to be casual and conversational, to get past what had just happened. She let him.

"A bit of healing. Injuries, that sort of thing. That's why I've been recovering faster than you expected."

He glanced over his shoulder at her, and the look she read in his face was appreciative. "Handy bit of magery, that."

"It depends on how much of my own energy I have. That's why it was so slow, why I was in such bad shape to begin with. I was just out of everything. But I've been getting better, so the magic's been coming back. I'd say if I'm starting to make little snowstorms when I'm upset, I've got most of my magic ready again."

"Good to know, if we get in any trouble on the way."

"I'll do my best," she agreed. "I'm not bad with a sword, either. And it's a runic sword."

"Runic? Where've I heard that before?"

"I'd be surprised if you did. Runic weapons are ancient. War of the Magi, they say." She was starting to feel less wretched, she had to admit.

"Ah, well, you forget, I'm a treasure hunter, and ancient treasures are a specialty." His cheeky grin was audible. "So I probably have heard of them."

"Fine, then, what do they do?" she challenged, lifting her chin.

He laughed, a short bark of a laugh that was warming to hear. She'd caught him off guard. "I said I'd heard of them, not that I knew all about them."

Satisfied, she started her explanation. "They channel energy. Magical energy. If there's magic aimed for a runic knight, the knight can take up their runic weapon and absorb the magic. They take it in harmlessly, and they can even use the magic to replenish their own energy stores."

"Oh, indeed! That sounds quite handy!"

"I'm sure it was, during the War of the Magi." The war that was relegated to thin scraps of legend, the war that Emperor Gestahl had become obsessed with, researching everything to do with it, and somehow in the process finding Terra... "Not so much now, with no one even thinking magic exists, let alone using it. So I'm not that practiced with it. It's a bit like a lightning rod, except if I don't concentrate just right...well. I wouldn't want to be hit by lightning."

"Ahh, of course it has its drawbacks. Well, still, something that sounds like it could be useful. And your sword's a runic weapon?"

"It is. Something special about the steel lets it channel. Runic knights were supposedly able to use any weapon to channel, but these were better for it. Like a funnel instead of a sieve." She reached for the hilt of the sword, reassured again by the familiar touch of its wrapped leather.

"You know a lot about these old legends everyone else has forgotten."

Celes frowned. "It's Gestahl that knows it. He's...very focused on what he's discovered. He claimed that the Empire was attacked because the other kingdoms feared his knowledge. But it sounds to me like no one knows what he's researched."

"And I guarantee you, he made the first attack."

She sighed. "I won't argue with that. Not anymore."

"Hey," and he looked over his shoulder again. "Remember. Second chance."

She nodded, avoiding his eyes again and forcing her own to stay dry. "Anyway. It works on the beams that magitek armor can use, since that's magic-based. But I'm just one person. So don't expect me to be able to do much if it's more than just one."

"I only expect you'll do what you can." There was a reassuring lilt to his voice, and she didn't resist it. Maybe there could be some redemption for her. "That's all I expect of anyone, really. Not everyone lives up to it, but." He shrugged. "When we get to Narshe, you'll have me speaking for you. If anyone questions your right to be there, they have to argue it with me. I don't think there'll be much question, though. The Returners can't afford to turn you away. And if Banon hesitates, Edgar can be real persuasive."

"Edgar- King Edgar?"

"Mmm-hmm, one and the same."

She eyed him. "You...you look like a thief. You spy and sneak and break through any lock. And you're on first name basis with a king?"

"Surprised?" He grinned, that same infectious grin. "Someone's gotta be his contact with the Returners."

"You know, Gestahl wasn't surprised when he threw in his lot with them. It was common knowledge that the Figaro alliance was because he couldn't afford to stand against the Empire."

"An alliance for lip-service only," Locke agreed. "Only until he was sure he could keep his people safe. He had plans in place for evacuating the villages, and whatever mechanical marvel it is that lets his castle bury under the sands. But Kefka forced his hand, coming to retrieve Terra."

"He was supposed to take the castle, too."

"Not surprised. Spectacular failure, how'd Gestahl take that?"

She laughed bitterly. "Not well. He thought he had Figaro in the palm of his hand, and that's why he was so focused on Doma. We treated Figaro like another stalled front, even if by word we were allied. When Kefka came back minus half his entourage, Gestahl was not pleased. So I was surprised that he sent him to replace Leo." She frowned. "He must have known Kefka planned to use poison. And that Leo would have never stood for that."

"General Leo. Now there's another I wish we could have for our side."

"Believe me, I wish the same. I think he's the only soul among the Imperial Army now with a sense of honor. If he knows what's happened..." She sighed. "Why didn't I see the signs? It's so obvious now."

Locke reached back and squeezed her hand. It startled her, but she also found herself reassured by the touch. "He didn't want you to. You thought you were doing a great service, didn't you? That sense of honor was your slave crown. He gave you falsehoods and twisted truths, and you believed him because thinking otherwise was too painful. But it broke, didn't it? And you saw. So you tried to warn us."

"And got caught. And then got rescued." She was silent for a moment. "...Thank you, by the way. For rescuing me. You didn't have to."

There was an odd pause, a small hitch in his voice. "Ah, don't say that. Of course I did. You tried to help. And you can still help. I couldn't leave you there."

"It made things much more difficult for you."

"I wouldn't say that. I'd say I'd only be about a half-day ahead if I was moving alone. And it hasn't been difficult to watch out for you. You take care of yourself."

She flushed. "Not very well when we first met."

"Well, you recovered quick, you said so yourself. So don't think of yourself as a burden. Now, traveling with Edgar!" He laughed. "He thinks highly of himself, his majesty, in his ability to connect to the common folk, but let me tell you that teaching him how to rough it damn near broke my patience! I swear the man is capable of burning water on a greenwood fire he built himself."

Celes couldn't help the grin, coming as it did with a rush of relief. He said she wasn't a burden. "Then I suppose I'm not so difficult after all."

"My dear Celes, you are a positive delight in comparison. In more ways than one." And there it was, that wink, she just knew it.

She snorted. "Don't even start with that, you—rogue."

He laughed. "You'll have to do better than that, I've heard far worse. But noted. Oh, and do let me warn you. Our Royal Majesty thinks himself irresistible to women. He was quite put-off that his charms didn't seem to be noticed by Terra. He'll probably be trying to charm you within moments of meeting you. Stand firm and don't let him sway you. He does have a good heart, but he doesn't realize how easily women are impressed by his rank." He shook his head. "I've spoken to him about it, but I don't think he quite believes me."

"Noted," she said, shaking her own head at the thought that in a few days' time, she'd be in the company of a king who'd be attempting to flirt with her. How much her life had changed!

"He might be a bit more even-headed now that Sabin's with us—Sabin's his twin. A monk, went off to study and meditate in the mountains. I don't know him well, we met on the way to the Returner headquarters. But he seems to be a calming influence on Edgar. He should be there too. Everyone left for Narshe, I was the only one who went running toward the enemy lines."

"Something tells me you make a habit of that."

"It's a hazard of my profession," he admitted. "I hope to grow out of it."

"I hope that's possible," she said softly, and was surprised at how sincerely she meant it.

In the silence that followed, she could hear his smile. "Me too. C'mon. Not much further now. We'll be out and able to make camp soon."

Despite the darkness, the stone all around them, and the uncertainty of what was ahead, Celes found herself feeling much more at ease, both with Locke and with her situation. And when before she would have tried to fight it off and refuse it, now she held to that tiny flicker of hope, shielding it like the spark of a flame, to tend it safely and let it grow. Maybe the darkness wasn't so terrible after all.


	5. Chapter 5

It did seem easier once they were on the other side of the pass. Celes felt the release of some of the tension she'd been carrying since the escape from South Figaro once the mountains stood between her and the last known location of the nearest Imperial forces. Their camp for the night had not been quite as luxurious as the royal hunting lodge, but it was a sturdy structure not far from the western end of the pass. Locke said it had a purpose related to the maintenance of the pass, which was why it was in good condition but unoccupied.

Conversation had come a bit easier, after whatever it was that had happened in that dark tunnel. The night wasn't spent in mostly silence broken by only a few spoken words. They actually spoke to one another. It was awkward, to be certain, but Celes was adjusting to no longer wearing the mantle of her rank, and found herself craving human company as a result. She was cautious, still wary of allowing anyone else to gain leverage over her, but telling Locke about her childhood in the Empire was eye-opening, to her as well as to him.

She hadn't realized that her isolation as a child was such a strange thing. Yes, she was special, not like other children. She didn't go to a state school like the others, she was taught at the academy or had private tutors, so that nothing would get in the way of her training. She had missed having playmates but had lived up to the expectations of her instructors, who had solemnly praised her maturity at understanding there were far more important things for her to accomplish than children's games. Locke had frowned when she told him, and she gathered that even for an exceptional child such as her, those circumstances were unusual. It troubled her. She knew what the Empire had become was a dangerous beast, tightly focused on conquest even if it meant making sacrifices. She didn't like the idea that the rot went deeper, and had started earlier.

He'd asked if she had any contacts back in the Empire, anyone who might help—or harm—her chances of escape. And he'd frowned again when she had confessed that the only friend she truly had was Cid. Of course he couldn't understand how busy her life had been, and how as her rank rose so did her caution, as she was immersed in the bitter political dance of the Empire. How many nobles had sought her ear to gain audience with the Emperor, and how shamed she had been when she had believed in the good intentions they professed only to be reprimanded for wasting the Emperor's time. He couldn't understand any of that. By his own admission he was lowborn, and his first exposure to the intricacies of any court were when he became the contact between the Returners and the King of Figaro. So when he frowned at what she said, when he looked upset by what she said, she tried to put it out of her mind. He had no way of understanding. And she did not need his pity.

He had, in turn, told her a bit about himself. That he'd grown up in Nikeah, the prominent port city, and that his father had been a fisherman, so he hadn't seen much of him. That his father had died when he was still a boy, the entire ship lost to a late-season storm, and how it was then that he'd used his little tricks of lifting purses from inattentive merchants to try to keep their little family afloat. That he hadn't liked it, because when merchants complained of crime, it was the people of the poor neighborhoods who complained, even though everyone knew the highborn did plenty of hiring muscle in those quarters. That he'd done his best not to hurt anyone in as precarious a situation as he and his mother, but sometimes hadn't had a choice. That his eyes were opened to the trade of treasure hunting by seeing ships offloading ornate objects, swords of gold with jeweled pommels that were never meant to be used in battle, fantastic armor suits that could not be in any way practical. Every boy had found some bright stone he swore was a magical jewel from the War of the Magi, and while the relics of that war and its lost cities weren't nearly that commonplace, there were enough to make it a lucrative trade indeed. He'd started ranging further out, learning how to delve into caves, his small and wirey build allowing him to weasel into the narrowest fissures and retrieve baubles that others had to pass by. And living in Nikeah had given him the perfect place to find buyers for these treasures.

Until a sickness had ravaged the port city, and his mother had been one of its victims. He was stoic when he spoke about it, staring into the fire, but she saw flickers of pain in the firelight on his face. He'd still been a child by the legal definition, but with his mother gone, he had nothing keeping him there, and even trading in trinkets had barely kept them above abject poverty. So he had left to find better fortune elsewhere. "And there's many tales to be told of my adventures from then. It's been some ten years since I set out, and I'd like to think I've done alright by myself. And becoming the contact and confidant of a king helped quite a bit when I still had a few unfair bounties on my head." She'd laughed softly at his headshake. "All misunderstandings, I assure you!"

Here was someone she would not have spared a second glance, except to make certain he wasn't planning to rob her with those daggers, and he had risked everything to smuggle her out of an occupied city.

They were nearing Narshe. Already she could see the haze from the collieries darkening the skies to the north. It was a sprawling city cut into the sheer cliffs, where coal was mined from both the exposed seams and from shafts sunk into the ground. The abundance of coal had made Narshe one of the most advanced cities in the world, and the entire city truly ran on steam. Granted, all those coal fires and boilers darkened the skies with smoke, and the snow that came early in these mountains was darkened with soot, but a bit of dirt was something any coal mine city expected, especially when the steam power it provided made the mines productive and the people of the city quite well off. A longstanding friendly attitude toward the engineers of Figaro had benefited both, though the Empire's adaptations of the steam technology had been beyond the dreams of either.

She'd visited only a few times, as part of Imperial detachments meeting with the city council. The constant presence of soot was weighed by the availability of hot water for bathing, but her fur-lined cloak hadn't made it. She'd been struck then by how easily defensible the city was, occupying those cliffs and cracks in sheer rockfaces. Narshe had long been coveted by Emperor Gestahl for its resources, but the difficulty of mounting any sort of attack on the city had spared it so far. They were able to maintain a polite fiction of neutrality, when the truth was that they were simply too tough a nut to crack. The discovery of the frozen esper in the mineshaft was changing all that. The Emperor had needed to talk fast to assure the council that the strike force that attacked the city and then disappeared within the mines had been a rogue faction, the act of discontents who had appropriated Imperial resources. No one had entirely believed that story, especially when the rumors spread that the Empire had lost its tame witch, but it had allowed the Narshe council to save face rather than respond to it as an act of war. Surely they weren't complacent enough to have fully accepted it? It had been a test of their defenses, and while the soldiers and Terra had been lost, the ease by which a magitek squad of three had entered the city all the way to the mines was very telling. Of course the Empire had lost the magitek armor as well, something too valuable to throw at the enemy like that, but it did prove that Narshe was not impenetrable.

Still, if she was to assist the Returners in defending against the Empire, Narshe was a better battleground than most. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that, but she'd likely exhausted her good fortune already by the fact that she was still alive. If it was necessary, she would use her skills in battle to try to buy the innocent more time. Evacuations could be difficult, with only one major road into and out of the city, but the mines could shelter many and give them other ways out, if the invading force was kept occupied long enough. It wouldn't atone for her sins, but it was better than nothing.

"Deep thoughts?" Locke's voice shook her out of her reverie.

Celes blinked and looked over at him, then gave him a swift smile. "A bit. Going over what I know of Narshe, and ideas for defending the city."

He nodded appreciatively. "We don't have many on our side with a mind for full-scale battle tactics. We've been more the guerrilla sort, hit and run. My specialty, in fact."

"I don't doubt it. With the numbers and firepower against us, guerrilla tactics are the only sensible ones. But if we can convince the council to side with the Returners, that will give us the manpower from the Narshe city guard. Their firearms aren't exactly a match for magitek, but it's better than nothing." She paused, realizing he was looking at her intently. "What?"

"You're saying 'we.' It caught my attention, that's all."

She frowned and shook her head irritably, brushing a strand of hair back behind her ear as it fell across her face. "Well, I've thrown in my lot with you, haven't I? I need to streamline my focus. Besides, it's easier to say 'we' than try to come up with some more accurate term."

"What would be more accurate?" he asked, his head tilted curiously.

She fought back the urge to glare at him. Must he pry like this? "I'm not sure. Like I said, I've thrown in my lot with you. I'm a traitor to the Empire, so either I go into hiding and hope the Empire loses, or I actually try to help them lose. I don't think I'd make it long in hiding anyway. I'm a bit too recognizable."

He smiled softly. "Well. However it is, I'm glad to have you with us. Wish it hadn't happened the way it did, but you're still here."

She felt some of her irritation run out, despite a perverse desire to point out that she had all the more reason to wish it had happened differently. "True. I'm still here." She looked up to the smear of orange on the northern horizon where Narshe's haze caught the afternoon sun. "Think they'll accept me?"

"Hmm?"

"The Returners. Your friends. Whoever matters. Do you think they'll accept my help?"

"If they have any sense in them, they will," he replied, his lips thinning. "We can't afford to turn away assistance, and you have valuable information, tactical knowledge, a strong swordarm, and magic. They'd be fools to refuse."

"But I am a former general. An infamous one." She looked away from him. "I wouldn't trust me."

"Well, you haven't been given many reasons to trust anyone. I trust you, and that's all that should matter to them. If they don't have faith in my judgment, why'd they make me the go-between for Edgar and Banon?" He shook his head rather fiercely. "No, they'll accept you. I'm speaking for you. Simple as that."

"I hope you're right."

"Look, if they give you trouble, they have me to answer to. They know better, they won't do it."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Now it sounds like you've thrown in your lot with me."

"Hah. I have, though. I told you I'd get you out of there, and I haven't done that yet. You might not be jailed anymore, but you still have nowhere to go, you said so yourself. I'm gonna make sure there's a place for you that's as safe as anywhere in this war, and then I'll consider my promise kept." He paused, and out of the corner of her eye she saw a grimace of pain flash across his face, so quickly it might have been imagined. "And I fully intend to keep this promise."

"Locke..."

"Hmm?"

She felt like she had to say something. There was something there, something just under the surface, something that was tearing at him. But what could she say? He'd told her about his past last night, but it could hardly be all of it. And some things remained unspoken for a reason. All she knew for certain was that there was something that happened that was still giving him pain, and that somehow that was tied to his sense of responsibility for her. She couldn't find any words to express her concern, her respect for his privacy, her awareness that he was carrying his own burden. Instead, she settled for simply expressing her gratitude. "Thank you."

He looked surprised, as if he had expected something else entirely. "Ah, I told you. No need to thank me. I'm not done yet, and besides, it's only right. So save your thanks for when I've really earned it."

"I think the fact that I'm still alive means you've earned it," she responded, adding a small smile to soften her words. "And remember, I'm a soldier. I'm not used to saying thanks to anyone."

"Not a general anymore," he said softly.

"But still a soldier. It's all I've ever known, maybe all I'll ever be. And if I'm going to lose everything else about myself, I'm going to keep this. I'm a soldier, a damned good one, and I know when someone's saved my skin. So let this soldier thank a fellow soldier who helped her."

He grinned. "Me? A soldier?"

"Oh, you're no one's idea of an infantryman, that's true enough, but you're a soldier in my eyes. You're fighting, aren't you?"

"I am," he said in a voice that suggested he was humoring her.

She pressed on. "For a cause you believe to be right?"

"That wouldn't be inaccurate."

"In my book, that makes you a soldier too," she said with a decisive nod. "Someone who fights for a cause."

Locke chuckled. "Awfully simplified, don't you think?"

"Blame my training. I'm used to examining people and situations and reducing them down to basic elements." She frowned. "Which is an awfully cold way to look at it, and that does say an awful lot about me, doesn't it?"

"I'd say it says more about the ones who trained you," he replied. "But I suppose I am a soldier. The kind that sneaks valuable prisoners out from under the enemy's nose and brings her to help the resistance."

"See? Who else could do what you do?"

"No one," he said, a flat statement of fact with no hint of hubris.

"So not only are you a soldier, you're a necessity."

"Which is exactly why they'll accept you."

Celes frowned. How did her argument get turned around? She tried to determine exactly where things had gone wrong, then gave up. If he was so intent that his word would be enough, then she'd stop questioning it aloud. "...Fine, that may be so. We'll see soon enough, won't we?"

"We will. We'll make camp tonight and make Narshe tomorrow by midday. I hope the others are already in place and trying to win over the council. We don't have time to spend convincing a bunch of hand-wringers that their neutrality isn't going to protect them anymore."

"No," she sighed. "No, it never did in the first place. Just gave them a sense of false security."

"Rather figured. Gestahl's no fool. And I bet that little group that tried to take the esper was part of a plan to scout the city."

"Since I don't make bets I can't win, I won't take you up on that," she said, looking away. "I was thinking that over myself, earlier. He's got the southern cities, everywhere reachable by land from Vector. Jidoor has no army, just a militia, and it'll fall like a house of cards if he shows any pressure. Kohlingen is as good as occupied since the raid wiped out their militia." Did she see another flicker of pain when she mentioned that northern village? "Doma was standing against him, but Kefka was going to change that, and I have to assume whatever he's managed to do is changing the tide. Nikeah was too close to Doma, but now that he has South Figaro for a port, Nikeah isn't as necessary to take. If he takes Doma, it'll fall soon after. Mobliz...probably not worth worrying about, on the edge of the Veldt. It's too isolated to assist anyone else. So that leaves the major players, Figaro and Narshe. They're the only forces we can muster against him, if Doma's still in the picture but mired in stalemate. Figaro's dropped the fiction of alliance, but King Edgar also proved he can protect his people, so now it's down to Narshe." She frowned, her brow furrowing in worry. "Locke, I don't like the look of this. I think there's going to be a major move on Narshe soon."

"And this is exactly why you're an asset to us," he replied, his voice warm at her but only on the surface. She could feel the thin worry beneath his words. "You've got information for us. You can predict their moves. And if what you say is true, we'll be making it just in time."

"I just hope it'll be enough," she murmured. Enough to hold them back a while longer, enough to keep the Empire at bay instead of at their throats.

He sighed. "Me too, Celes. Me too."


	6. Chapter 6

Locke came awake suddenly, his nerves taut and his body still as he focused on discovering just what had awakened him. Years of experience had taught him how to wake quickly and without drawing attention to himself, experience that had kept him alive in many tense situations. This could be another one. They had camped for the night in the conifer forest south of Narshe, but just because they were so close to their goal didn't mean he turned off his sense for danger, and right now it was screaming at him that they were in trouble.

Out of the corner of his eye he made out Celes' position, still sleeping in the rough lean-to they'd constructed the night before. Mentally accounting for her, he listened intently to the pre-dawn sounds in the forest. It should be alive with birdsong, territories being claimed and defended, their voices reaching further in the cool, still air. Instead, it was silent, and that was as good as a blaring siren for him. The presence of a predator, like an owl, might quiet the nearest birds, but more distant birds would still be singing, and the air conditions were right for carrying them to him. For the birds to be silent for leagues meant that something very unusual had frightened them to stillness.

Listening through the absence of natural sounds, he heard the tone of human speech. Too indistinct to make out, but it was accompanied by the sounds of brisk movement through the trees, the sort of sound that a large group moving purposefully would make.

With a swift twist and roll, he was on his feet, glad that he had maintained his habit of sleeping clothed and armed. He quickly surveyed their campsite; their signs would be obvious if stumbled upon, but perhaps from a distance their trail wouldn't be discovered. Kicking leaflitter over the coals from last night, he moved to Celes' side and lightly shook her shoulder. "Celes. Wake up."

To his approval she woke soundlessly, her eyes opening and focusing on his with not quite the speed of his own reflexes, but swiftly enough. "We've got company," he explained to her quesitoning gaze. "Dunno who or what, but enough that I want us moving. I'm going to scout, get yourself ready to move while I go."

She nodded and started to rise. Satisfied that she'd take care of things, he slipped into the undergrowth in the direction of the intruders.

Locke was far more at home moving unseen through an urban environment than the wilderness, but many of the lessons of silent travel applied to both streets and forests. He knew an experienced tracker would be able to find his signs, but he didn't expect to be up against someone of that caliber, not with the noise being made nearby. _Or the noise could be a distraction to draw me out,_ he thought, then shook his head. If it was, he trusted Celes to take care of herself. He had to find out what was out there and where they were headed.

It didn't take very long. There were a few roads through this forest, mostly for merchant's caravans, worn by wagon wheels and chocobo feet. He had selected a campsite far enough from the nearest to keep them out of sight, and now he went back in that direction. A small group mounted on chocobos couldn't be the cause of the silence of the wildlife, it would be too commonplace.

The noises were getting louder. He heard the steady tramp of boots, and the unsettling mechanical clang that could only be the march of magitek armor. He sucked in his breath, his heart starting to pound. Imperial forces this far north? The only place they could be going...

He slid carefully through the thick bushes, pressing himself against the back of a tree, and strained to make sense of the voices. By the continued sounds of marching passing him by, this was a large group, and he felt a cold sweat as he realized just how large.

"Halt!" he heard a voice call from ahead, and the sounds of movement stopped. "Treefall ahead, the road's blocked."

The next voice he heard was close, and completely unlike the clipped, businesslike tone of a military officer. It was shrill, jarring, with an uneven lilt that made him wary "Well? Do something about it!"

The first voice spoke again, this time a bit closer, sounding wary and apologetic. "Sir, we may need to find another route. It's a large tree and it's fallen across the entire road."

"Another route?" the strident voice demanded. "I'm not going to let some piece of firewood delay us! Oh, but that's it," and the voice turned cloying. "Yes, that's it. You! And you! Get those hunks of metal up to this unfortunate piece of kindling."

"Sir," the first voice broke in, "sir, but the fire beams-"

"Are exactly what we need to burn through this inconvenient treefall," the voice purred.

"But the forest-"

"Oh, so unfortunate of it to be growing in my way, don't you think? No, don't think, you aren't paid to think. Burn it. Burn the tree down. And if the forest burns with it, then we'll have less to worry about on our way back."

"Sir, the smoke will announce us-"

"Like they'd see it through their own fumes and smoke! Puh! Filthy coal-miners. Why are you still standing there? Or do you want to show the tree how to burn properly?"

"Sir!"

Locke had heard enough. Imperial forces were headed for Narshe. For a brief flicker he thought of fleeing, going into hiding, getting as far from the frontline as he possibly could. But there was no hiding for Celes. And the Returners, the people of Narshe, they needed to be warned. He pushed away from the tree and followed his path back, the sounds of his passage masked by the clank and thud of magitek armor presumably approaching the fallen tree.

When he reached the campsite, he was relieved to see that Celes had packed their supplies and was waiting for him. He took his pack from her and shouldered it as he explained. "It's an Imperial force. Foot troops and magitek, they're headed for Narshe."

Her eyes widened and her hand went to the hilt of her sword reflexively. "Can we make it ahead of them?"

Relieved that she was focused on a plan rather than panicking, he nodded and motioned northward. "They're blocked by a fallen tree. I heard their leader order magitek to burn it down."

"Burn it down- but they'll ignite the whole forest!" she hissed, eyes wide.

"Didn't sound like whoever was in charge thought that would be such a bad idea," he answered, pushing aside a branch and holding it for her to move past. As he looked at her face, it had gone ashen. "And you know who that would be. Who?"

"Kefka," she answered flatly, but he could hear the quaver of fear in her voice. "If Emperor Gestahl sent Kefka to do this, we have no time to lose. The townspeople will have to evacuate immediately, he doesn't try to avoid collateral damage." She paused, then added, "He prefers it."

He swore. "Just what we need. C'mon, once we're out of the trees we'll need to make better time. I know of a farm on the edge of the forest. We'll nick a couple birds and run it to Narshe." And he'd try to leave a few gold for the farmers. They didn't ask to be in the middle of a war, to have part of their livelihood stolen. Deep down he knew that they were in danger of having their farm razed as the Imperial troops marched by, but there was nothing he could do about that. They could spare no time to argue or warn. He clenched his hands until his nails dug into his palm. More innocent people, at best inconvenienced, at worst killed with the indifference of swatting a fly.

He could feel her eyes on him, could sense that she was drawing her own conclusions from his plan, and he fought back the urge to defend himself. What good would it do? In trying to defend his callousness, he'd only remind himself of it. Besides, she had been a general of this army. She had to know what they were capable of. She'd led the march on Maranda, hadn't she?

It was silence then, broken only by their movement through the forest, and a few alarm calls from the birds at their movement. Light was starting to filter through the canopy; the mountains to the east would keep them from seeing direct sun until it was high in the sky, but hopefully the delayed light would help them on their flight toward Narshe.

Locke just hoped that the Returners were there and had already convinced the council that the Empire was indeed a threat. There would be no time for delicate diplomatic talks. If the council wanted to cling to their illusion of neutrality, they'd find it hard to do so with the Imperial army at their door.


	7. Chapter 7

They abandoned their chocobos at one of the inns that overflowed outward from the main gate of the city. The convoluted streets had a layout that made mounted riding impractical within the city proper, with buildings perched on sheer ledges or carved into the rock walls themselves. Chocobos within the city were limited to those drawing carts and the like. Locke shoved a handful of gil into the hands of the stableboy as they dismounted the birds, gathering his pack off the saddle and watching approvingly as Celes did the same. He motioned toward the gates, and she nodded thinly, wrapping her cloak around her and adjusting its concealing hood as they made for the guardpost.

"Oy!" the stableboy called. "Ye overpaid-"

"Keep it," he shouted over his shoulder. "Birds need a good feed, we pushed 'em."

"Aye, thankye," and the boy disappeared back into the stable. Locke had been careful not to be excessive, as that would have him remembered suspiciously, but he knew very well how welcome a generous tip would be for a boy working the stables. It could mean a warm meal rather than the inn's leavings, which would do well on a night as chilly as this one. He tried not to think about what the morning might bring, with the Imperial forces marching on the city; what it would mean to those whose homes and livelihoods were outside the great protective gates.

The gates stood open now. He couldn't remember them ever being closed, though he half-expected it after the strike force the Empire had sent. But no, it would slow the flow of traffic, and besides, Narshe was a neutral city, wasn't it? He ground his teeth in frustration.

There was a guardpost beside the gates, for the purposes of registering merchants. One guard was busy inspecting a wagon loaded with foodstuffs, and as he stood in line, trying to keep from vibrating in his impatience, another guard waved the two of them through. Two people on foot into the city was no concern.

"Come up through the forest, did you?" the guard asked, and Locke blinked, then swiftly shifted into one of his personas, that of a wandering bard.

"Aye, up from Figaro," he agreed casually, reaching over to touch Celes' arm reassuringly.

"Seen the fire?" the guard asked, and Locke glanced over his shoulder. He could hardly make out a distinction between the smog of Narshe and what might be the smoke of a fire to the south, but evidently the guard was familiar enough with the conditions to notice something different.

"Huh," he said, forcing any sign of fear or impatience from his voice. "Not when I went through. Real dry in the wood, all the leaves gone down. We were real careful of the campfire, let me tell ya."

The guard nodded, his face displaying no emotion. "Perhaps nothing, but if a fire sparks off in those woods, we'll be called to help. Well, we'll find out soon enough. On your way, then."

"Aye, good day," and they went on into the gates. He could feel Celes seize his arm as they walked through, but she thankfully said nothing until they were within the city walls.

Once there, she leaned close. "Why the act?" she hissed.

"We can't afford a delay. Like right now. No running through the streets, that'll get us noticed and interrogated. If Banon and the others are here, they're at Arvis', and I know how to get there. C'mon. Just a couple of travelers with business to attend. Brisk and purposeful, but not hurried."

He could see the hint of a frown on her face beneath the hood. "I suppose warning them would have been a delay," she said softly.

He left his expression show his pain for just a moment. "It would. We need to get word to Banon, and the council. When the warning comes from the council, then they'll act without wasting time. Careful now, we'll be taking the right ahead."

The urge to break into a run was burning in him despite his own words of warning, so he pushed himself further into the act of someone with an errand to attend, looking over the market stalls they passed with polite nods of acknowledgment. He'd learned through trial and error the ways to move among a crowd without being obvious, which sometimes meant allowing himself to be noticed for perfectly ordinary reasons. Celes had none of this training, but the advice he'd given seemed to be working, because she wasn't drawing undue attention as his companion. The cold air was perfect reason to keep herself huddled in her cloak, and if it hid her sword as well, all the better.

They made their way through the streets of Narshe, taking an indirect path by both necessity and choice. If anyone was watching them, he didn't want to stand out, and the winding streets made it easier to make his destination less than obvious. The cobbles were dusted with soot-greyed snow, and he was grateful for the firm footing his boots provided. Until the city saw its first proper snow of the winter, these thin coats of snow would only serve to make the streets more hazardous. A wonder anyone made it through a Narshean winter without breaking their legs.

Narshe truly was a thief's haven. Like any city it had its social strata, but the way the streets wound and twisted made those areas less distinct. There were hiding places everywhere, if you could brave the ice and cold. Locke knew this from experience. As they moved onward, he kept his eyes open for trouble and for places perfect for ducking in. Many of the inns within the city had second or even third entrances for their patrons, and in the chill many people would shortcut through the warmth rather than go around. He hoped they wouldn't need to hide and run, and so far he sensed no one watching them. He knew he'd be able to lose any pursuers, but Celes was another matter.

She was very quiet now, and as he reached for her arm, he felt a tremble running through her. He raised a brow in concern, and she lowered her head, murmuring softly. "I'm fine. Let's just get this over with."

"Agreed," he replied. "We're nearly there. Some stairs to climb, and once we round this bend you'll be able to see it on the ledge ahead." Inwardly he prayed that Banon and the rest of the Returners were already there, that Edgar's silver tongue and the presence of Terra had already swayed the council in their favor. Had it really been so recently that he'd been called in to the city by the Returners' contact on a "retrieval" mission in the mines? It seemed ages had passed since he'd snuck Terra out of the city. Banon had been right about one thing: that girl was changing everything.

The building was in sight, and from the gaslights burning at the windows, it looked like a full house. Narshean guardsmen were posted outside, watching the two as they approached. "Halt," one called. "Council meeting underway. Take your business elsewhere."

"My business is here," he answered, drawing a signet ring from a pocket. "I'm in the employ of Lord Arvis and I have an urgent message to pass along." He held out the ring for the guard to inspect.

The guard on the right looked as if he'd rather turn him away, but the one who spoke took the ring and examined it. "Aye, Lord Arvis' sigil. He's with the council, it'll be on his head if you aren't welcome."

Locke took the ring back, his face impassive. "So it will. I'm just the messenger." He pulled open the door as the guards resumed their post, and a gust of warm air welcomed them inside.

"Sir?" asked the servant in the foyer. "Lord Arvis is hosting the council-"

"It's me, Jonaton," he interrupted, handing the man his cloak and motioning for Celes to do the same. "Who's here?"

Jonaton's eyes widened as he recognized his employer's frequent contact. "Sir Cole, it's the Returners, and then some! One's the wi-, the girl from before, and the Figaro King, a knight of Doma even! They've been in talks an hour now."

A knight of Doma? He'd figure out how that had happened once he'd delivered their news. "Banon?"

"Yes, Sir Cole, he's with m'lord as well."

"Good. I don't want to repeat myself more than necessary. C'mon," and he ushered Celes to the only room that could possibly hold them all.

The house was well-insulated, but he could still hear voices ring down the hallway. "What you propose is preposterous! Emperor Gestahl yearns for power, that much is obvious, but by no means is he taking us on a path to repeat the War of the Magi! Magitek is not the magic they wielded!"

"No, it's worse, because they can mass-produce it!" That was Edgar.

"Even still!" said the first voice, with a few more grumbles echoing after.

"We remain neutral," the mayor spoke. "The Empire is not our enemy. They knew your alliance to be a ruse, your majesty, and you must have realized that. Besides, they will not divide their forces so! They have the eastern front to consider!"

"The eastern front is no more," said a new voice. "Doma is no more."

The next voice was Sabin, Edgar's brother. "Kefka poisoned them. Down to the last child. Sir Garamonde is the only survivor."

There were gasps, many voices trying to talk at once, and then the mayor's voice above the din. "Order! Order!" But the mayor was spoken over, until he shouted again, "I will have order!" In the murmuring quiet that followed, he said, "What you report is abominable, but the Empire knew Doma was collaborating with the Returners! We have done no such thing! You assume that Gestahl will move against us? We've done nothing to incur his wrath!"

"And Figaro did?" Edgar demanded archly. "Kefka attacked on the premise, the premise alone, that we were harboring a single refugee."

"A deserting soldier, you mean!"

"And Narshe's mines hold a frozen esper! You think Gestahl will continue to ignore that? Hasn't he made it clear that he seeks to control all sources of magic and magitek? If they would eliminate Doma and attack Figaro on lesser provocation, why would he respect your neutrality? Why not seize the esper, and the mines as well? Even now they occupy South Figaro!"

"Because you stood against them! I repeat," the mayor shouted stridently, "the Empire will not march on Narshe!"

"Think again!"

Locke was gratified to see all eyes sweep toward him as he made his entrance, Celes behind him. "Kefka leads a force against the city as we speak!"

Another round of gasps and murmurs met his announcement, and the mayor knitted his brows furiously as he called again for order. A councilor stood, ignoring the mayor and pointing accusingly at Locke. "You! You're a Returner, how convenient of you to bring this information to us at this time!"

"Convenient, oh yes, very convenient, that I'm warning you instead of heading for the hills!" he spat back. "They're marching up through the forest, and they have magitek armor. I don't think Kefka recognizes your neutrality any longer."

He met Banon's gaze then, the leader of the Returners looking saddened rather than shocked by this news. He stood, gathering the attention of the council. "My man here has no reason to mislead us. If he reports troop movement, then it is so."

"Sooner I'd take the report of our own guard! Someone who isn't one of you insurgents!" the loudmouthed councilor retorted.

Beside him, Celes stepped out from the shadowed doorway. "Then take my word," she said, shaking back her hair from her face. "I am former general Celes Chere of the Imperial army, and most assuredly, Gestahl wants that esper. That prior force was meant to claim it, and he moves now to make certain he gets it."

Her announcement was met with more raised voices and shocked exclamations, and at the table, one of the figures stood abruptly. He was clad in armor with the device of the royal retinue of Doma, and the look on his face was of absolute fury. "An Imperial general among us!"

"_Former_ general," Celes corrected, lifting her chin.

"The general who led the razing of Maranda!"

Locke saw the slightest flinch in her at that accusation, but she stood firm. "I have committed treason against the Empire. I learned of the plans to take South Figaro, and of Kefka's plan to end the stalled front in Doma with poison! I sent messenger pigeons to warn the Doman forces-"

"Not soon enough!" the man snarled. "Doma has fallen, and you have much to answer for!" There was a hiss of steel as he started to draw his blade.

"For the love of- STOP!" Locke shouted, interposing himself between Celes and the furious knight.

The man halted, his sword half-drawn. "Stand aside, _sir_, so that this Imperial bitch may answer for her crimes!"

"Are you mad!? Celes has deserted the Empire! They had her locked up awaiting execution in South Figaro! She has valuable information for us from the head of the Empire itself, and we would all be fools to refuse her help!" He glared at the man, his arms held out at his sides, not reaching for his daggers yet. A griefstricken survivor of Doma would not be easily reasoned with, but perhaps an appeal to honor... "I swore I'd protect her, so I will not stand aside." As soon as he spoke, the words came back to cut him, his throat tightening with the ache of memory. Promises made, promises he didn't keep, and his determination to keep this one.

"Cyan, please, sit down!" It was the younger of the Figaro twins, the great bear of a man called Sabin, who was now at the knight's side. "If the Imperial Army is on its way, we don't have time for this now!"

"Besides," said a soft voice, and everyone turned to look at Terra. "I was an Imperial soldier too."

The knight—Cyan—stepped back, taking his hand off the hilt. "But you were controlled...?"

"And you think Celes wasn't?" Locke shot back.

Banon spoke then, his voice pitched lower, making others focus on him as they strained to hear. "We mustn't lose sight of the fact that the Empire is made of people, people like you and I. People who have been given orders and fear the consequences if they don't carry them out. The Empire as it has become is an evil thing, but we mustn't paint all its citizens the same." His eyes lingered on Terra, and then Celes, before he sat again.

Cyan shook his head, his long black topknot emphasizing the movement. "The Empire plays a convoluted game," he muttered, seeming to regain some composure, but his face lost none of its hate as he glared at Celes.

For her part, she remained standing impassively, and had not even gone to her own sword to defend herself. "That it does," she said. "But please, believe me. The entire city is in danger. Kefka will not avoid civilian casualties. They're after the esper, and Terra too. You must give orders to evacuate. Perhaps enough can hide in the mines before they arrive in the morning."

"That soon?" a councilor demanded.

Locke caught her nod out of the corner of his eye, and stepped aside to allow her to continue speaking—but making sure to stay between her and the Doman knight.

"They'll camp only out of necessity tonight. We made it ahead of them on chocobo, but I can guarantee Kefka will have them on the march before dawn. Send your scouts, they'll be able to see the campfires." She paused, and added, "but that's time we don't have."

The mayor waved to his aide. "Send word to the guard captain, I want a patrol to confirm this." As the aide scurried out the door, he looked around the table, his voice heavily weighted. "If what she says is true, we have little time to prepare. I want evacuation order B in place. I call this meeting adjourned."

The councilors stood as one, each jockeying to be first out the door, no doubt to be the first in getting their families out of harm's way. Locke sighed deeply, slumping against the wall. Looking up, he found Celes looking at him, her face pensive, and he gave her the smallest of encouraging grins, mirthless though it was. Then Edgar was in front of him. "South Figaro?" the king asked.

Locke shook his head. "Hopeless. They're occupying it. Most buildings intact, but they've taken control of the port. Nothing short of a small army would dislodge them."

"And damage my city and its people in the process. No," and Edgar shook his head. "You did what you could." He turned toward Celes then. "More than I thought you could, at that. You are General Chere?"

"Former general," she corrected softly, her voice wan. "My attempts to contact the Returners were discovered, and I was to be put to death for crimes of high treason. Locke freed me, and convinced me I'd be a help to your cause."

"The warning alone is more help than we expected, but any information you have will be extremely valuable," he said. "We've never managed to get our spies far into Vector."

"No," and she smiled thinly. "You wouldn't be able to get in easily. I'll do what I can to aid you. My life is forfeit if I return to the Empire. If it weren't for Locke, I wouldn't be here at all."

Edgar nodded, his glance shifting toward him. Locke saw the meaningful look in those eyes, and he knew those words he'd said to vouch for Celes had not gone unnoticed by his oldest friend. Mentally he swore. At least preparations for what lie ahead would take precedence over questioning, or so he hoped.

Banon had approached now, and gave Locke an approving nod. "I hoped you'd be able to get some information out of South Figaro. You exceed expectations yet again, Locke."

"Thank you, sir," he said with a wry twist to his voice. "I take it you are not questioning the contributions Celes has made tonight?"

"Not at all. I knew Gestahl wouldn't let that esper slip from his grasp. We need to make certain he doesn't take it. And then, we need to bring Terra to it."

"Terra?" He blinked. "But why?"

"Encountering that esper broke the control the Empire had over her. There seems to be some connection between them. After all, she has magic."

"As do I," Celes interjected softly.

That drew attention back to her, and Locke saw that not only had Edgar and Banon joined them, but Sabin, Cyan, Arvis, and a strange youth with an odd hunched posture who squeezed in beside Cyan. There was the slightest breath of cool air as Celes realized the attentions she held, and then she stood straighter. "I am a product of the Empire's experimentation in magical augmentation. Myself and Kefka were the only successful products of those experiments. This means we are both able to wield magic. Emperor Gestahl sought to recreate the powers that Terra holds naturally, but it was an imperfect process, and most did not survive. After that, he turned his attention to magitek. But I can assure you, this means any other sources of magic are dearly sought by the Emperor. That is why I believe he intends to take the esper, and occupy Narshe as well. If he knows that Terra is here, Kefka will have orders to reclaim her. If he learns that I am here..." Her voice broke off, but with a shake of her head she cleared it and went on. "I have all the more reason to fight him. He will be coming with magitek, and Kefka will use his own magic. If the Narshe guard can engage most of his forces, we will still need to protect the esper. Bottleneck him and we'll have a better chance of holding him off."

There were glances all around at her words, and Arvis nodded appreciatively. "Good. I will speak with the guard captain when he arrives and advise him so. After the first attempt, they moved the esper from the mines to a ledge above the city. It is inaccessible but for a few paths up the mountain. A small force can hold him off there."

Celes nodded. "Good. I volunteer to be part of that force."

"You can't be serious! An imperial traitor to defend the esper?" Cyan demanded.

"I'll be there too," Locke said, frowning at the man.

"Hang it all, we'll all be there," Edgar broke in. "I think we've all come to work well together? At least in our own little teams. So we'll be the defensive force. And that'll be enough of the voiced suspicions. We've enough to worry about in preparing tonight, so save it until we have room to breathe." He gave Locke another significant look, and he knew that he would be hearing more from the king, in private.

"As your majesty commands," Cyan said stiffly, giving Celes another hostile glare. She made no sign she'd noticed, remaining coolly attentive to the king.

"Like my crown matters here. Half my kingdom is in Imperial hands, the other half in hiding. You know if they take Narshe they'll go for the castle next!"

Sabin clapped a hand on Edgar's shoulder. "We won't let that happen to Figaro."

"We'd best get what rest we can," Banon said in that soft tone that demanded the attention of all. "Locke, I'll need a full report, and Celes, please, stay to add what you can. The rest of you-"

"I'll have Jonaton turn out some beds for guests," Arvis said. "At least a few hours' sleep on featherdown should help."

"After wilderness camping? You bet it will," Sabin rumbled genially. "Let me help with that, please. I don't have the brains for tactics, but I do have the brawn for moving furniture." With a good-natured chuckle, he followed the man down the hall.

Their little crowd started to disperse, and Locke nodded to Banon. "Right, the report. At least let me sit, we've been on the move all day," he said, and without waiting, took a seat at the vacated table. Banon sat across from him, and after a moment's hesitation, Celes took the chair next to Locke.

"I'm gratified that you are willing to lend your aid, m'lady," Banon said to the former general.

She nodded acknowledgment. "In truth, I hope to amend some of the wrongs I have committed," she said in a soft voice, her gaze darting in the direction of the glowering knight in conversation with Edgar.

"Ah, yes. Sir Cyan was the king's retainer. I am told that General Kefka replaced General Leo, and contaminated the water supply to Doma." Banon shook his head. "You say you sent pigeons?"

"I tried," she said. "I was arrested soon after on charges of treason, so I assume the messages were intercepted."

"Gestahl must not have been pleased that one of his own generals turned on him."

"I imagine he is not," she replied, her voice even. "We were en route to South Figaro when I was placed under arrest. I am unaware of the Emperor's reaction."

Locke narrowed his gaze at Banon. What was the old man after? Celes had delivered the information. Did she deserve this level of interrogation? He reminded himself that he was the one who had seen her in that cell, bruised and battered, and that her healing magics had since erased the signs of the abuse she'd suffered. They had only her word to go on. And his, by extension. He gritted his teeth. They didn't have time to cross-examine her! He spoke up, to remind them that he had seen the force himself. "The force Kefka leads against Narshe is a small company in numbers, not quite a hundred men. I counted five mounted in magitek armor."

"The Narshe guard should be able to hold off the majority of that force," Banon agreed. "As long as we can keep them from reaching the esper."

There was a sigh from his left, and Locke turned to see Edgar take that chair. "The esper. All this to claim something locked in ice for ages."

"Gestahl won't allow it to slip from his hands again," Celes objected softly.

"No, of course he won't. So we fight to keep it ourselves, to deny him its power." The king put his hands to his temples and sighed again. "That esper will either be our salvation, or our ruin."


	8. Chapter 8

Tiny snowflakes swirled in the air as Locke pushed open the door and ducked outside. He pulled his coat closer around him as he took the brunt of the cold, his breath steaming in his face before the wind tore it away. Night had fallen by the time Banon had finished taking his report, and lamplights glittered across the city in pale impression of the night sky hidden by a blanket of clouds. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he caught sight of Edgar, standing in a sheltered nook of what was in better seasons a small pleasure garden. The king had seen him, and his gaze weighed on him as he acknowledged him and approached. Locke had known that his friend would demand to have words with him as soon as he finished with Banon, and he was determined to get this over with.

As he drew close enough, Edgar said in a deceptively mild voice, "What in the name of all that is holy do you think you're doing?" In tone he might have been asking a common pleasantry, but his eyes bored into Locke in a way that made him want to flinch.

He made a show of rubbing his hands together in the cold, ducking his head to hide the hint of a scowl. "My job," he finally answered.

"Your job," Edgar repeated. "Your job was to get information and slow them down if you could."

"And that's exactly what I did," Locke said, forcing his voice to stay even. "I couldn't slow them down, but you wanted information? You got it."

"I don't remember Banon asking you to bring back a disaffected general if you could find one," the king retorted.

"Somehow I doubt any of us expected a windfall like that." Locke leaned up against the wall as another gust of wind chilled him through his coat, now standing beside his friend. "I saw the chance, I took it. Now we have advance warning that the Imperial Army will be knocking on our door tomorrow, and that it's Kefka doing the knocking."

He saw the puff of steam from Edgar's sigh. "I am not denying that it's good information. At least, that it's useful to have. But is it reliable? For all we know, she was planted to mislead us. Come on, Locke, one of their generals? Someone with magic? What a lovely coincidence."

Locke felt anger stirring in him, but he clamped down on a hasty retort before it left his lips, instead fuming quietly and forcing his voice to stay even. "You didn't see her. They had her locked in Lord Paisello's wine cellar, next to the access to the passageways."

"Paisello...I should have seen that coming," Edgar muttered. "So. Locked in a wine cellar. And?"

"And beaten to within an inch of her life," he snapped, nostrils flaring. "She was in bad shape. Clearly they just wanted her to be just barely alive so she could be properly put to death."

"If she was that bad off, you made amazingly good time."

"You heard her, you said it yourself—she's got magic. She healed up as we went, but the first few days were slow going." He rubbed his hands together again, forcing himself to keep from snarling at his closest friend. Perhaps he was exaggerating a bit regarding her condition when he'd found her, but the memory of the mosaic of bruises on her skin made his stomach clench in hot, stubborn anger.

"Again, I have to say: how convenient."

He could feel Edgar's calm regard on him. Somehow, that was only making it worse. "She's one of the highest ranked in the entire Imperial Army, she's privy to information we never even dreamed of obtaining, and she's got personal reason to fight back against them. I wasn't going to leave her there to die."

"Of course you wouldn't." Edgar sighed again. "Locke, are you sure you're not-"

"Not what?" he interrupted, turning to glare at his friend in the dim light. He'd been waiting for this shoe to drop, waiting for Edgar to suggest exactly this, and he was going to make him say the words.

"You know damned well what I mean. Making her a replacement to rescue. A woman in danger, and here you are getting her out to safety, and oh, just look, she's got valuable intelligence for us, and impressive skills as well! Are you letting yourself be blind to the chance she's not what she seems to be?" A few strands of Edgar's hair had worked free of the bindings and the wind was tugging them around his face, but he brushed them away with an impatient frown as he stared down his friend the saboteur and spy.

There was a sullen burn in the pit of his stomach, and a tightness in his throat that was somehow connected to his eyes, making him want to blink fiercely. He fixed his gaze on the lamppost off to the side, jaw clenched as he let the anger and pain roil through him. For brief heartbeats that felt ages longer, he could barely see through a haze of reddened memory, old wounds that felt torn open again. It was like a knife to his gut that had sluggishly bled for years, and these words had just given that knife a twist. Edgar knew it, damn him, he _knew_ exactly what his words were doing, because one night they'd shared too much of the royal wine cache, and shared their old pains with it.

He heard his heartbeat thudding in his ears, and forced his head to regain some clarity by throttling down the turmoil he felt. "If the Empire knew to bait their trap tailored so perfectly to me, we may as well surrender now," he said in a thin, low tone. "Because if they're able to do that, we stand no chance."

Edgar snorted. "Like hell I'm giving up now. I want my city back, without Imperial loiterers clogging up the canals. I want out of this damned cold, too."

"But you didn't want us overheard." Locke felt a twinge of guilt, realizing that his friend had spared him a more public confrontation, and helped keep this deepest pain a secret.

"Come on, Locke," he sighed. "What are you doing? You had to have thought this through."

He echoed the sigh, staring up into the formless grey at the aura of soft amber that came of lamplight reflecting off the snow suspended high in the air. "Maybe I didn't," he admitted. "But she needed help. She was in bad shape. I couldn't- I couldn't just leave here there to die, not after what I saw and heard. And you saw her tonight. She wants to stand with us, against the Empire. She's seen their evils and wants to fight them."

"And this boon comes to us on the eve of an act of war against a neutral city. In the form of a woman in danger, whose life you saved." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Edgar follow his gaze up into the featureless sky.

Silence stretched between them for several long moments, and in the silence he could hear the sounds of movement in the city below. People being evacuated to the mines, guardsmen gathering, shopkeepers securing their businesses. Lives disrupted, and this inconvenience would be the best case scenario for them. He sighed again, feeling a wrench deep down within him. "If she..." His voice failed him, and he tried again. "If she turns out to be a danger to us, I'll...deal with it." He felt Edgar's eyes on him now, but he couldn't meet them. "I'll keep a close eye on her, and if I have to, I'll deal with it myself, before anyone else has to."

Another silence suspended between them, but shorter, and ended as Edgar rested a hand on his shoulder. "If she's as she appears, she'll be a very welcome addition to our forces." A pause, and then he added, "If she's as she appears, I wouldn't mind getting to know her better myself."

Locke glared at the man. "I'll be sure to warn her," he retorted, hoping there'd be enough levity in his tone to hide the unreasonable surge of anger he felt at the idea of Edgar "getting to know" Celes. Certainly nothing would come of it, not even Edgar's usual pursuits were likely here, but the mere thought of it was making him entirely too uneasy.

"Like you did with Terra?" And now Edgar laughed, his tone still strained but with more levity in it. "I thought I was losing my touch, the way she ignored me."

"Maybe you are. All the girls in Figaro too accustomed to your charms and you've got to relearn your tricks with the ladies elsewhere," Locke shot back, feeling a relief of some of this unsettling tension in their familiar banter.

"Perish the thought," the king said in aggrieved tones, drawing a short bark of a laugh from his friend. "A day may come that I give up the game of skirt-chasing, but it won't be any day soon, mark my words."

"Consider them marked," Locke agreed. "Now can we get out of this damned cold? Unless your plan is to turn us all iced-over to confuse Kefka about which is the esper."

"It wouldn't be among my most brilliant plans, so sadly, we'll have to go with the much more boring but likely more effective plan our new ally General Celes gave us tonight." He pushed away from the wall, shaking his head and brushing snowflakes from his furred mantle.

"She's a sharp one for tactics. Maybe not accustomed to smaller forces, but she sees the big picture better than any of us, and I've no reason to doubt her skill with her sword," Locke agreed as he followed Edgar back to the door.

"You'll be alongside her tomorrow, so you'll be able to give me the full report once we've sent Kefka packing."

Locke raised a brow. "Banon grooming you for leadership?"

Edgar nodded slowly. "At least, a more obvious role, now that I've made plain where my loyalties lie. We both agree that the remaining holdouts may come quicker to the banner of Figaro than that of some middling-fame scholar like him. And we both hope it won't come to that, but..." He sighed. "We need every edge we can get."

"And I delivered one," he said softly, as his friend knocked at the door.

"Yes. Yes, you did. Or so I hope." Edgar nodded to Jonaton as the man let them inside, both of them shedding their outerwear as they entered the refuge of warmth.

In an undertone he murmured, "So do I."


End file.
